


La douleur exquise

by secrettemplars (tricycleamoving)



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:40:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4192437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricycleamoving/pseuds/secrettemplars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>it was supposed to end like this.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	La douleur exquise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> for julia, you horrible enabler.
> 
> **EDIT** : The amazing tumblr user lansuk77 has translated this into Chinese! You can read it [here](http://tieba.baidu.com/p/3934936761).

**epilogue:  
** it was supposed to end like this. you knew it was supposed to end like this. at the very beginning you planned it all out, right to the very last detail, every single potential miracle or mishap or mistake mapped out in one glorious document locked in the catacombs of your mind. you knew it would come to this.

you knew.

the birds are loud today. it is a beautiful day, a day for flip flops and sun hats, the clouds floating across a baby blue sky, the sunlight shining down on you, your shadow lengthening before disappearing when it reaches the edge.

he would have enjoyed a day like this, you think.

people always expect a sad backstory. there must always be a bad guy, an antagonist, an evil villain, someone who came along and ruined your life and turned you into the twisted individual you are now. people want to understand, so they think up excuses for you.

_what happened to you_ , they would ask, if they knew.

_nothing_ , you would reply, if you could, _nothing happened to me. i happened_.

you happened, in the same way that he happened. and he happened because of you.

you raise your leg up, letting the flip flop on your foot dangle in the air. you let it drop, and you watch it fall down, down, down, until it looks like a speck of dust, and you cannot hear the sound of it landing. hopefully it didn’t hit anyone when it hit the ground.

hopefully you don’t hit anyone when you hit the ground.

 

* * *

  
**the end:  
** your hands are clasped around his clammy ones. his hands are so cold, so pale, but even like this, with him lying in a hospital bed, looking like death itself, you can’t help but find him beautiful. it’s in the way he looks at you, even though you know it hurts, as if you were his last precious thing remaining on this earth, the only one who mattered in this sea of tubes and beeping machines and ammonia-scrubbed floors.

he whispers your name, even though it hurts.

you say nothing, just clinging onto his hands as you watch him slowly wither away. you don’t want him to go even though you know he will: you planned this, remember?

when he finally departs it’s with your name on the tip of his tongue.

_kouki_ , he rasps out, voice soft as the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, _kouki, i-_

and then he leaves you, gone as softly as he came, and you are not putting on a show when you weep, hugging his limp body to your chest, running your hand through his blood red hair one last time before they tear you away from him, before you are left to live your life alone.

the tears you shed are real.

later on the lawyer visits you and says: _he left it all to you. everything he owned and earned, it’s yours._

you sit in your living room ( _ours_ , you think, _our living room_ ), hours after the lawyer had left, staring at your hands. maybe it was a figment of your imagination, but for a moment you swore that the red of his hair had bled onto your hands when you touched him for the last time, that it was his blood on your hands, forever staining you. marking you.

two days later you get a letter. the only thing written on it is:

_congratulations_

you burn it and throw it into the fireplace.

 

* * *

 

**the middle:**

he’s standing across from you, looking into your eyes with such tenderness and love that you can’t help but feel you’re drowning, the oxygen leaving your lungs as you plunge into the depths with him by your side. you don’t see anyone else but him. he doesn’t see anyone else but you.

and then his hands are lifting yours, your right hand so small in his as he slides the golden band on, the _i do_ still echoing within the chapel walls. the ring slides on perfectly, as if it was meant to be there on your hand, as if he was always meant to be there with you.

your eyesight is faltering, eyes too full of tears for you to even see him properly, but still you look up, and you see that he is crying, also. your heart beats so fast and so loud you almost thought an earthquake was erupting in your chest, and when you say _i do_ you mean it.

you mean it.

you wish you didn’t, but you do.

 

* * *

 

**the beginning:  
** your name is furihata kouki and you are twenty eight. you were born in tokyo and you work for the daily journal and you are going to be interviewing akashi seijuurou today. you will ask him about his work life balance. you will ask him about his company. you will smile at him whenever appropriate. you will give him your card at the end of the interview and flash a coy smile. you will wait for his call.

the seats in the waiting room are made of leather, and the material sticks to your skin as you wait. you stop your hands from shaking. you fiddle with your phone as you wait. you repeat what you know to yourself.

your name is furihata kouki and you are twenty eight. you were born in tokyo and you work for the daily journal and you are going to be interviewing akashi seijuurou today. you will ask him about his work life balance. you will ask him about-

_mr. furihata_ , the receptionist calls, _mr. akashi will see you now_.

you take in a deep breath and stand up.

your name is furihata kouki and you are twenty eight. you cannot fuck this up.

 

* * *

 

**prologue** :  
the lights are dim in the restaurant. your client sits across from you. he slides a folder over. you open it and read the contents.

_one last mission_ , your client says.

_what do you want me to do_ , you ask.

_it’ll be a long con_ , your client replies, _we need enough information for us to tear the entire company apart, bit by bit._

_and then_ , you ask.

_and then i want akashi seijuurou dead_ , your client says.

_okay, boss_ , you say.

and that is that.

 

* * *

  

[_"He feels (he’s dead), he lives (he’s dead), he loves (he’s dead)."_ ](http://ibuzoo.tumblr.com/post/121914305112)

_— _[r.m](http://ibuzoo.tumblr.com/tagged/excerpts) | Excerpts #24_  _

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> why is it that every time I write in the second person, it turns out ridiculously pretentious? 
> 
> ah well, this was written in a record-breaking one hour, the fastest I've ever written anything, I guess. I don't know what it is about the second person, but I write a lot faster when using it. Maybe it's because I'm allowed to be deliberately vague hah. Maybe it's because when I write in the second person my writing style is basically 'brain vomit' whoops. 
> 
> anyway this is another au that I don't really know if I'll ever write properly? I quite like it like this, hah. 
> 
> please leave a comment or a kudos or a bookmark if you feel like doing so! I'm gonna go and cry in a corner now lmao this fic has affected me a _bit_ more than I expected lol
> 
> (also, shameless plug but I'm organising a [furiaka week event](http://furiakaweek.tumblr.com) over at tumblr! save the date if you're interested!!)


End file.
